


The Joy of Art

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Art, Life Drawing Class, M/M, mystrade, naked Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-08 06:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11640729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: Mycroft's moaning about his rusty artistic skills pushes his PA to enroll him in a life drawing class.  His initial reluctance begins to fade until he realizes just who will be the model - a certain Detective Inspector whose naked body is already the stuff of his fondest dreams...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was a privilege and honor to write since it was won in the Rupert Graves Birthday charity auction by the amazing [Copgirl1964](http://copgirl1964.tumblr.com/), who was generous enough to bid on my scribblings to help a fantastic cause, the children's charity [TheirWorld](http://copgirl1964.tumblr.com/), and provided the prompt for the story itself. I was thrilled for the bid and hope folks stop by their blog and say thanks for their supporting this effort.

      “Is this some form of jest?”

      “Would I spend money on a joke?”

Anthea’s grip on cash was tight enough to make Her Majesty’s image scream in torment, so… no.

      “I admit it is an unlikely thing, however…”

      “You decided to take up your art again, didn’t you?  Something to help you relax?  Well, now you can have a few lessons to refresh your skills.  Or, rather, you can draw or paint and the instructor will offer critique and suggestions.  And I asked about in a few places, didn’t just leap into paying for a class you wouldn’t need.  Everyone I spoke to said that painting _people_ can be especially difficult, so that’s what I anticipated would be most helpful.  Your first class is tonight and you’ve got a dismal morning ahead, so you can look forward to tonight as your reward for having to manage some of your favorite ambassadors in their most disagreeable moods.”

That _was_ a dismal morning, by any standard, but… a life drawing class?  Admittedly, Anthea had a point that anatomy was particularly tricky to properly render on canvas and he _could_ benefit from some specific and constructive suggestions, but… there was something… unnerving… about the whole matter.  Openly working with a nude model where others could view and judge his progress.  While he _drew_ the nudity!  That being said, he would be there to focus upon his own work and was supremely skilled at narrowing his focus so that the actions or even presence of others could be handily ignored.  And, it was not as if he had not seen a nude human before.  He had.  In person, as a matter of fact.  Not often, but how often did one need to view live nudity for it to count as a full point on one’s permanent record?

      “Sir, are you just going to stand there and rub the print off your registration form or are you going to thank me and then say something to make me want to punch you so our day can get off to its normal start?”

      “There shall be no chocolate with your lunch delivery today for that nonsense.”

Rubbing his arm where Anthea hand applied a solid, closed-fist punch, Mycroft pouted but felt an odd sense of relief that she had not punched his dominant arm and, in any manner, impaired his ability to wield his brushes and paint.  Apparently, he was more eager for this experience than his conscious mind recognized.  Well, it was a shortsighted thing to turn away from a chance to improve one’s skills, even if those skills were recreational in nature, and he might be many things, not all good, but he certainly was not shortsighted.

Therefore, now, the agenda for the day was devastate arrogant, entitled ambassadors, tidy a few loose ends with the latest MI-6 initiative in Taiwan, then stop in at home to adopt a more casual set of garments to wear for the evening.  Perhaps a drink or three might be warranted, as well.  This was an exercise in relaxation, was it not?  Well then, for this endeavor, the more relaxation, the better…

__________

      “Oh yes, Mr. Holmes!  We’re very happy to have you join us tonight.”

Instructor not festooned with oversized silver jewelry and chaotically-hued scarves.  Good.  Also, not the squalid studio he had dreaded, but an appropriately-clean, well-lit, spacious room where several others like him, serious-looking people with proper tools and supplies, were already setting up for the evening’s work… so far, approval was bestowed.

      “Thank you, I am happy to be here.  How... how large is the class, if I might ask?”

      “Currently eight, but we usually add one or two as we go along.”

A workable number for the ignoring strategy.  Excellent.

      “And, do they tend to be on par in ability?”

      “I’d say so.  We have a range of classes, so if someone seems a touch behind or ahead of the curve, it’s easy to move them to a pace and challenge more at their current level so they see the most benefit from their lessons.  Your assistant said you mostly needed some anatomy practice to polish skills that have gotten a tad rusty, so the intermediate group seemed right for you.  Well, set up wherever you’d like.  It does tend to get a touch warm in here, so if you didn’t bring water, there’s a café two doors along that sells it and they’ll take a bit off the price if you mention us.”

Water bottle included with supplies, thank you very much.  And, I believe I see the perfect spot to erect an easel, a bit apart from the others, though I do very much approve of the fact that the level of interaction between the participants appears limited to cordial smiles and nods.  _Very_ good.  Ultimately, this might prove a productive experience.  Although, Anthea must never know.  Her gloating would be intolerable.  And inordinately prolonged…

__________

      “Good evening, everyone.  It looks like all of you are ready, so I’ll bring out our model for tonight.  Greg?  Ready?”

No, the hitch in his breathing was not an involuntary reaction to the transfixing Detective Inspector’s name.  It was… a hiccough.  After all, ‘Greg’ was a fairly common name.  Verily, a thousand, even more, in the city boasted it on their birth certificates.  This infantile infatuation with a certain member of London’s police force was truly a ludicrous thing and all mental chastisements would be bestowed at the earliest opportunity.  Just because his breath was taken away when first he laid eyes on the man was no reason to continue to pine for his attention like a love-addled youth.  Such a virile, rugged… rather, such a _professional_ and _mature_ man would never stoop to posing nude, intoxicatingly nude, for any…

      “Absolutely!  Hello, everyone.”

No.  Nononononononononononononononononononononononono.  Not possible.  Hallucinations!  Witchcraft!  Doppelgangers were real!  The barrier between reality and fantasy had crumbled and the supernatural was running amok!

      “Let’s get started, what say?”

No.   Nononononononononononononononononononononononono.  Gregory!  Do not… remove your hand from that... do not open… good heavens, man!  Put your dressing gown back on!  Your manhood is exposed!  Gregory Lestrade – why are you not listening?  You are flagrantly displaying your glorious nudity, which is more glorious than ever I imagined and the gloriousness I imagined was not something an average mind can even conceive!  Oh my heavens… I am in the same room as the air-kissed skin of your transfixing, succulent arse.  That I have imagined biting on a shameful number of occasions.  It is, as expected, far too exquisite for mere mortals to look upon without properly-protective eyewear.  I must slink away before…

      “Mr. Holmes?  It is!  Well, this is a surprise.  Pleasant one, though, sir!  Definitely keep me on my toes tonight not to fidget or slouch.”

Slinking strategy scuttled!  And he waved at me.  Which promotes… jiggling.  And not of his arm…

      “Ah, yes.  A surprise on my part, as well.”

Notice the calm, entirely neutral tone of my voice, Gregory.  Pay no attention to my loins scrambling to stand tall and return your wave of hello to further attract your notice.

      “I’ll get to it, then, and we can chat during the break.”

No.  No.  No.  Chatting will bring your gossamer-thin-dressing-gown-clad body in proximity to mine and I place it at 79% likely that my attentive loins will simply attempt a sneak attack upon your person that I certainly do not want documented by the various brushes and charcoals of the other participants in this class.

      “I look most forward to it.”

That was not a rebuff!  However… it _was_ positively dripping with casualness.  Truly, someone should be following along after my words with a mop and pail to clean the floor in their wake.  Perhaps that shall convey most clearly my utter disinterest in sharing conversation with your blindingly-beautiful body.  And… Gregory.  _Must_ you pose so alluringly?  Positioning every muscle so that your manly majesty is presented in the Platonic ideal of masculine grandeur?  Recognize I know this is intentional on your part and it will stand as an indelible black mark on your record.

Gregory Lestrade! Are you _mocking_ the black mark?  You have slightly shifted your feet so that your… frontal area… is fully twelve degrees more presented to my position.  Truly, you are demonic in your temptations.  Have you any idea the thoughts, the _fantasies_ about you that have occupied my mind for truly shameful quantities of time?  How your smile is more entrancing to me than any of the world’s finest works of art?  Do you any inkling of the shudder that runs down my spine when I hear your roughened voice or the sound of your rich, throaty laughter.

      “Mr. Holmes?  Is everything alright?”

Eep!  Must, at least, pretend to something artistic lest the instructor serve an eviction notice for perverted staring.

      “Yes, thank you.  I simply am wondering, now, if painting is the place to begin with this study.  Perhaps a sketch, first, to give some general outline to my perceptions of the forms of the model’s body.  I am not feeling, oddly, the immediate call of the brush, however, that may simply be manifestation of my trepidation at learning how badly my skills have eroded due to years of disuse.”

The award plaque for Best Improvised Lie of the Century can be delivered to my office, thank you, once it has been duly engraved with name and date.

      “You’d be surprised how often I hear something like that.  Right now, do what is inspiring you and see where it takes you.  For some, a more organic approach, simply building upon each moment without looking ahead to where they may lead is worthwhile, especially to get started and gain a sense of what you’re actually feeling about the subject without preconceptions or a fixed-end blocking your path.”

Do take my wholly fake smile as your reward for that rather meaningless drivel, however… your drivel does have some miniscule kernel of point, since, at the moment, my mind could no more work constructively towards my intended goal than a wildebeest could creep through a field of violets without crushing a single petal.  Fortunately, I have with me quite the suite of tools to render Gregory’s… dear lord, but Gregory’s body is enthralling.  The uninspiring garments he wears for work give no indication of the Adonis-like marvel they are covering.

Enough.  Truly and utterly enough.  I do decree that all mental, emotional and sexual longings towards a certain personage shall now be placed behind an unbreakable wall until such time as I will it.  Now, occupy self with something that will do justice to Gregory’s unclothed and bawdily-presented splendor and… the wall had already fallen!  The agony was real and, apparently, unending…

__________

      “Try visualizing what lies beneath the skin.  The fullness, the solidity of the muscle and bone…”

I am highly familiar with Gregory’s fullness, thank you very much.  Begone.

__________

      “Excellent work on the hands.  Consider, though, what you might do to make them appear ready to move, as if they are simply paused a moment.”

If you do not believe I have not contemplated the movement of Gregory’s hands, you are tragically idiotic.  My skin will happily script a thesis on how it has envisioned the gentle caress of his large, skillful hands against my…

      “Thank you, I shall consider that.”

After a calming sip of water.  Or three.

__________

      “Interesting study… the lines and shading for the jawline is very well done.”

Coarsened by the end-of-day stubble he wears so beguilingly, or smooth from a fresh morning’s shave, Gregory’s jawline beckons the achingly slow caress of long, eager fingers or an equally-eager tongue…

      “It is setting, for me, the tone for the remainder of the face and head.”

      “I look forward to seeing where this leads.”

As long as you cannot read my mind, I shall not object.

__________

      “Good work, ladies and gentlemen.  Let’s have a break, what say, so our model can stretch a bit.  The loo is at the end of the corridor and there’s time to run for a nibble if you have the need.”

The break.  It has arrived.  Where is the doomsayers’ catastrophic meteor strike when I need it?

      “Mr. Holmes!”

Oh dear… there you stand, Gregory.  Smiling and bedecked in what I would imagine you wearing as you left our bedroom to run to the wine cellar for the perfect bottle to celebrate our post-coital glow. 

      “Detective Inspector.”

      “Greg, please.  Not on the job, now, am I?  Or, at least, I hope I’m not.  Hate to be walking around a crime scene completely starkers because I’m having some form of delusional event.”

      “I can assure you that you are off-duty and not surrounded by your NSY brethren.  Though, I would ask…”

      “Why I’m here?  Ronnie, there, the instructor… we’ve known each other forever.  When she was at art college and I was just getting my feet into policing, she passed along one of those adverts they post for students and the like to make a few quid by posing for the art classes.  I wasn’t shy and could certainly use a little extra in my pockets, so I put my name on the roster.  Still do it on the rare occasion when someone cancels at the last minute or they want an old man’s body to contrast those young, nubile things they usually get in front of the class.”

I scoff at young and nubile.  Your body, Gregory… the things it does to me… were I to give my life to art, you would be my muse, my inspiration to infuse my work with emotional power… to elevate it to the highest heights… good heavens, that was florid.  See!  You morph the logical, analytical calculating machine that is me into some form of warbling bard.  Where is the rose I might clutch in my hands while I proclaim my infatuation to the heavens?  The warble continues!  Woe is me…

      “Fascinating.  I would not have thought it a lifelong interest.”

And do marvel that I am conversing in an intelligible, affable manner and not haltingly, on bended knee, proclaiming my adoration like a besotted schoolboy.

      “Probably a bit of it is wishing I could draw or paint and can’t even make a tree that people don’t ask me if it’s a hand!  Never had a whit of talent, but I truly admire those who do.  Like you!  That right there… that’s something gorgeous and I don’t mean my sags and bags.  You know how to capture a subject and make it live; that’s not something many do well.”

      “I… thank you, Det… Gregory.”

And thank you, also, for not mentioning that I have not even contemplated straying in the more… tantalizing… areas of your anatomy.

      “You’re welcome, sir.”

Should he?  The situation was an informal one and the precedent had been set…

      “Please, call me Mycroft.”

      “I’d be honored.  Art must also be a lifelong interest for _you_ , if you’ve got that amount of talent.”

      “It is, actually, though I have not pursued it in a very long time and my skills have atrophied.  So little time, it seems, to devote to personal interests.”

      “Don’t I understand that.  You never know when your mobile will ring and how long you’ll be at whatever mess you’re being called in to tidy.  I’m especially glad you’re here tonight, then.  Ronnie runs a good class, doesn’t spend too much time hovering over you, just gives you little nudges here and there, so you really get to concentrate on your work.  Makes the time especially productive.”

      “I do admit that I was concerned about the teacher-pupil dynamic, since my school days are long behind me, however, it has not been as burdensome as I anticipated.  I… I am more confident that this shall prove a useful exercise and not simply a rather static use of my time.”

      “Perfect!  I really look forward to seeing what you do.  I expect it will be amazing, if this is only your start.  Ooh, look at the time. I’d better visit the loo and refill the empty space with a bit of coffee before I’m up there again.  Can I bring you a coffee?  There’s a kettle in the model’s area, too, so I can do tea.”

That… that was a cordial, friendly offer.  How marvelously polite was his Gregory.  Though the mental files would be amended to strike through the ‘my’ to more accurately reflect the historical facts.

      “I would not be averse to a cup of tea.”

      “Coming up!”

As Greg walked away, stopping a moment to talk to the other members of the class, Mycroft took a moment to marvel that he had… conversed.  Congenially!  It was not often that he had occasion to do such a thing and never with someone who… that very first time he met the Detective Inspector, who was scowling thunderously at the disheveled, skinny form that was in-police-custody Sherlock, slunk down in a chair and deep into one of his highest-quality sulks, it had been all he could do, for a variety of reasons simply to acknowledge the man before whisking his brother away for yet another lecture on acceptable behavior.

And, in the intervening time, their meetings, again, had been on official terms, so to speak, where genial chatting was certainly not appropriate.  Or, perhaps, maybe that was simply _his_ viewpoint.  If he was honest with himself, the Detective Inspector did greet him on those occasions with a smile.  And did not exhibit any hesitation or dread about approaching him to discuss whatever matters had embroiled Sherlock to the point the petulant maiden required rescue by the older, beleaguered knight in bespoke armor.

Could… could something warmer between them be possible?  A pleasant exchange of words when they met and, dare he think it, something of a friendly tone to their interactions?  It was a tremendous thing for which to hope, but… that did not make it an impossible thing and what Mycroft Holmes could do even with the impossible was staggering, if he was to boast.  Something Gregory might not find a winning trait, given his own humble nature.  Hmmm… certainly something to ponder while he awaited his tea…

__________

      “Whoo!  You’d never think it could be so tiring just standing there, but it really is!”

I have survived.  One full evening of Gregory’s full-frontal lusciousness has been survived with only an occasional spasm of increased heartbeat and breathing when the mind strayed into areas unbecoming the friendly relationship he was hoping to create with the Detective Inspector.  Bravo.

      “Restraining action and motion is not as easy as one would predict and does require an output of effort.”

      “It does!  I always forget that, too.  So, how’d you like the class?  Think you’ll stay with it?”

      “I do, actually.  I cannot deny that cleaning the rust and dust from my skills was somewhat energizing and produced tangible results.  Given this was only the initial class, I suspect the cumulative benefit would be most rewarding.”

      “Well, if what I’ve seen is your just brought-down-from-the-attic skills, then I can’t even imagine how amazing your work will be when things have been dusted off and given a bit of a shine.  Really, Mycroft… you’re a fantastically talented person and I don’t know why that surprised me since Sherlock’s talent with music is astonishing, but I hope you don’t ever let this interest sit ignored again.  That’s a shame the world simply can’t bear.”

Praise!  Genuine, heartfelt praise… what a palpable change from what was usually said to him, either to his face or behind his back, when recognition of his skills was blended liberally with the bitterness of envy and the sourness of spite.

      “Thank you, Gregory.  That is extremely kind of you.”

      “Just being honest.  I… I suppose it’s getting late…”

Oh.  Yes, the time.  Which is something that exists, though it might be forgotten if one is conversing with a god among men.

      “That it is.  I… I am certain you have a most early day awaiting you tomorrow.”

      “I don’t, actually!  One of the reasons I decided to step in tonight was that I have tomorrow free.  Or, as free as I can ever claim since my mobile can ring at any point and plunge a knife into the heart of my relaxing day, but it’s better than nothing.  I suspect you’re unhappily familiar with that, too.”

      “Unquestionably.  I am somewhat surprised, actually, that I did not hear my own mobile ringing tonight given the situation in… well, let us say, a region more provided with hot-headed politicians than men of reason and common sense.”

      “Maybe someone poured cold water over their heads and tucked them in for the night.”

      “One can only hope.  Well…”

      “Yeah…”

      “I suppose you must change, so I shall bid you goodbye.”

      “I do at that.  Goodbye, Mycroft.  I suppose I’ll see you soon enough, what with Sherlock still being alive.”

Who was tittering?  Oh good heavens, it was him!  Gregory had elicited giggling, a feat not accomplished by anyone since… well, that mental file was rather empty, wasn’t it…

      “I have little doubt.”

      “Until then…then.  And, with that bit of awkwardly mangling English…”

Oh, Gregory… how theatrical you can be, performing a perfect pantomime of a criminal sneaking away from the scene of a particularly heinous crime.  How playful you are... so many little things that I never believed I would find desirable, yet I learn, each time we meet, how much I crave such in my life.  Your nudity, I also crave, and it is certainly not a ‘little thing,’ but that particular notion shall be kept carefully hidden.  Except, of course, from my daydreams…

__________

      “Mr. H… Mycroft?”

      “Ah, Gregory.  Yes…”

      “Is everything alright?”

Not that I expect it is since you’re standing here, on the sidewalk, looking about as if you’re preparing to order mass executions.

      “In the grand design, yes.  In the proximal situation, no.”

      “Come again?”

      “My car has been towed.”

      “Isn’t there a driver associated with it.”

      “It appears he, also, has been towed.”

      “Is that legal?”

      “To be truthful, I have never considered the legality, given the level of… regard… the police have for vehicles, and personnel, in the service of government, however…”

      “I’ll make a call.”

      “Do not trouble yourself, Gregory, I have summoned another car and will see the situation sorted in… oh, do pardon me.”

Mycroft extracted the mobile from his jacket and the quick conversation did not bring a smile to his face.

      “Apparently, it shall be awhile before another vehicle can be dispatched.”

      “Strange.  Thought your lot would have a fleet of them.”

      “We do.  Apparently, I have chosen as my night of need, the one where scheduled maintenance is performed, so a limited number of vehicles are available and, naturally, all are currently in use.  Though I did learn my driver was returned to his duties by your brethren and is now enjoying a pint in the pub the drivers fancy once they are done with their work day.”

      “Oh, well, that’s something, at least.  Cab for you, then, I suppose.”

      “Not my preferred method of transportation, however…”

This call also failed to bring a smile to Mycroft’s face and Greg began to wonder if he should start worrying about a helicopter being called in to land on the street and whisk away the mysterious man of government.  There wasn’t much traffic, but the noise complaints and demands for investigation of what certainly were space aliens would keep his local brethren busy for hours!

      “Well, that was most dissatisfying.”

      “Why?”

      “Because, Gregory, there _are_ no cabs.”

      “Not possible.”

      “I have spoken to our transportation coordinator and there is, apparently, some form of dysfunction with the various radio networks through which they operate.”

      “Ok, that’s not good.  Let me call in and see what my side has learned and I’ll have them coordinate with your people.  Radio blackout can’t mean good things and I’ll see where we are on it.”

Mycroft admired how the relaxed, affable Gregory could morph into the serious, focused Detective Inspector in the blink of an eye.  A skill he _had_ believed was somewhat unique to him.

      “I would hold off on that for now, for I was duly informed this was… no biggie.”

      “What?”

      “I cannot bear to repeat it.”

      “Someone, employed by the government, actually said that.  To you?”

      “It does boggle the mind but, perhaps, they are in some form of internship program.  Regardless, it has been investigated and is not connected to a terrorist action or anything of the like.  However, it is profoundly hobbling dispatch.”

      “Feeling better about things… except this area isn’t one where you can easily hail a cab on the street.  And… ooh, taking the Tube with all your supplies…”

      “Given it is a contrivance rife with pestilence, I shall avoid it in any case.”

      “Pestilence is a pesky thing, that’s true.  What are you going to do, then?”

      “Wait here, I suppose, for another car to arrive.”

      “How long will that be?”

      “I have no idea.”

      “Alright, I’m not comfortable with you just loitering here, not that it’s a bad area, but there’s bad to be found even in the nicest places once the sun’s gone down and the berks think they’ve got more cover than during the day.  So… shall we?”

Greg made a ‘off we go’ motion that confused Mycroft mightily, something that happened with extreme rarity.

      “Pardon me?”

      “My flat’s not a bad walk from here and you can wait there for your car.  Before you say no, which I can already see your mouth rushing to do, look up at the sky and tell me what you see.”

      “I… oh.  Yes, the moon does seem to be vanishing most quickly behind clouds.”

      “I can vouch that my flat doesn’t have a leaky roof, has a kettle for tea or a sturdy glass for something more bracing that tea, and a functional loo.  Change your mind?”

NO!  Are you mad?  Alone, with you, with naught between me and your nakedness but air and the sheerest of garments?  I have _seen_ the nakedness, Gregory, and know well its majesty.  Do you truly believe I shall be able to maintain our burgeoning cordiality when such beauty is tempting and tantalizing me every single second that…

      “Sir?  I’m back to worrying about you.”

      “What?  Oh, do pardon me.  I was taking inventory of my own acquaintances in London with whom I might bide the time...”

Which, besides relatives, would number zero.  Actually, it would be in the negative range, for biding time with Sherlock was nearly as pestilent as riding the Tube.

      “… as I would hate to be an imposition to you.”

      “Not at all!  As I said, I don’t have an early morning and there is still a good bit of the evening left for socializing.  I was planning on a soothing drink and a cracking film, in any case, something which two can enjoy as easily as one.  I’d be my honor to give you a better place that a doorway to spend the next… whatever length of time it’ll be for your car to arrive.”

Drat.  Your sincere graciousness is as beguiling as your masculine splendor.  Is there no flaw in you, Gregory Lestrade?  I suspect even your breath, when you rise in the morning, smells as fresh as crisp, mountain air.  And rejecting your offer would certainly not do your worry any particular good, for you are a kind man, in addition to your many other virtues.

      “Then I gratefully accept.  I do not suspect it shall be a long wait, but the comfort of a welcoming abode will surely make the wait a pleasant one.”

But, do be warned, Gregory, that I expect you to keep your indescribable nudity to yourself.  I shall not suffer the humiliation of dying due to erection-prompted humiliation for Sherlock predicted that very thing when he was thirteen, in regards to his new violin instructor and my visit home Uni, and I refuse to give him even an ounce of satisfaction on this issue…


	2. Chapter 2

      “Well, this is it.  Not going to be featured on any of those fine home showcases on the BBC, but it’s good for me.”

Mycroft took a look at the modest space and was pleased with what he saw.  Sturdy furnishings with simple, tasteful design, a small stack of books on the sofa table that were of the type one read, not displayed for decoration… some degree of disorder, but the cleanliness was laudable.  Nothing, so far, to tarnish the image he carried of the Detective Inspector and wasn’t that a jubilant thing…

      “Most admirable.  And the surrounding area seems very pleasant, indeed.”

      “I like it.  Has everything I need within a quick walk, which is nice since I’m a lazy sod when I have the time off to enjoy _being_ lazy.  Have a seat and I’ll pour us a drink.  Is scotch alright for you?”

      “A personal favorite.”

      “Then scotch it is.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Mycroft gave himself a rather giddy mental pat on the back for successfully navigating a casual, amiable conversation.  Perhaps it was only a handful of words, at best, but the definition of ‘conversation’ had been satisfied and that was more than sufficient for the purposes of linguistic accounting.  And, now, he would compound his victory by having a seat on the sofa, exude contentment with the situation and prepare to…”

      “Don’t forget to call your car and tell them where you are.”

… phone the transportation coordinator and alert them to his present location.

      “Yes, it certainly would be inefficient of me to allow the poor driver to arrive at his intended destination only to find leaves blowing along the walkway and the occasional drop of rain on his windscreen.”

Ooh… that was rather pithy!  Apparently, Gregory’s residence emitted a conversation-enhancing field of some form.  Well, he certainly wouldn’t disparage the help, not matter what form it took.

      “What a terrible thing that would be!  Poor fellow trying to do his job and a sack of inefficiency falls from the sky to block his path.  Tragic, just tragic.”

Honest laughter was a rare thing in Mycroft’s life, so his small chuckle both startled and pleased him as he decided to throw caution to wind and actually text the transportation staff, despite his hatred of the crass communication form, so another conversation would not intrude upon the one he was actually juggling with laudable aptitude.

      “Rest assured, tragedy has been avoided.  And… oh, thank you.”

      “Thank me _after_ you’ve had a sip.  Not that stuff you’re used to, most likely, but probably won’t strip the taste buds off your tongue.  That being said, my favorite curry _has_ tasted a bit bland lately, but I’d attributed that to a seeing new face in the kitchen when I stopped in to collect it.”

      “It is most acceptable, Det… Gregory.  Having sampled a range of spirits, from both ends of the cost spectrum, I can verify that price is not indicative of quality.  Or perhaps, I should say the link is not to personal taste.  I can think of a few very costly examples that I simply cannot abide, whether it be scotch, wine or any other form of alcoholic indulgence, whereas I am most fond of a number that are to be had most cheaply.”

      “List, please!”

      “If I might have yours, in return.”

How… snappy!  Dear heavens, he was actually somewhat good at this!

      “Fair exchange.  I like a good session of bargaining.”

Oh dear, the Detective Inspector enjoys negotiation.  That is a _highly_ dangerous thing.

      “Do you?”

      “You don’t want to be on the other side of a table at a jumble sale when I stroll by, let me tell you.  Or one of those book sales for a church or primary school garden or whatnot.  I’m fierce, ferocious and phenomenal.  Yeah, I know that last one doesn’t start with an ‘f,’ but it _sounds_ like an ‘f,’ so I’m claiming it anyway.”

      “So, a stroll through an antique shop…”

      “Is something I have to avoid, since I’ll end up needing to hire a lorry for all the rubbish I’m taking home with me.  Which I don’t have room for in any case!”

Danger escalating to unfathomable levels… a leisurely day, motoring through the countryside, stopping in the various villages to hunt for treasure and sample the local offerings at the cafes and tea shops.  Was there anything more blissful?  The danger was real and devilishly tempting…

      “Such a burdensome talent.  However, I now know who to send when I desire a new sideboard or cabinet.”

      “Bollocks!  You’d walk in and leave with both of those and a Tiffany lamp for ten quid!”

      “I do admire an especially-naturalistic specimen of that style of lamp.  Delicate beauty enhancing one’s home, even when not being used to light your evening’s reading of a good book.”

      “I understand that perfectly.  You’re an artist, after all!  Stands to reason you’d admire beautiful things like that, especially when they involve a lot of skill to make, as well as a true artistic sense to design.”

Greg dropped onto the sofa and Mycroft made note of the exact distance between them, which was not quite what it _could_ have been.  Was that intentional?  If one were so inclined, on _might_ believe such a thing and his inclination was to be a person who _was_ so inclined at the moment.

      “An artist, Gregory?  I dabble, at best.”

      “Not true.  Here, let’s look at these sketches again and I’ll show you how daft you are.”

WHAT!  Here?  Unveil your nakedness within… well, I suppose your home _has_ witnessed your nudity before this point, but this is entirely a different thing.  Your body is on paper, for heaven’s sake, and that glides us smoothly into an intensely erotic area, which a man should be safe from in his own home.  No, that is wrong from every possible perspective, therefore, the statement is retracted… as well as moot, since Gregory is already in possession of the incriminating materials and perusing them with undisguised glee.

      “See?  This isn’t dabbling.  Dabbling is what I’d do; this is real art.  You actually make me look good, too!  That’s something a troll like me appreciates.”

Troll?  Dear heavens, Gregory, your instruction in mystical creatures and their attributes shall begin post haste and with all suitable course materials and appropriate examinations.

      “A troll?  You demean yourself, Detective Inspector.”

      “Fine, then.  Gargoyle.”

      “Gregory…”

      “Toad.”

      “That, at least, shall earn you an endless supply of kisses from young princesses.”

      “I thought it was frogs they kissed.”

      “I suspect the standard young princess would not easily discriminate between the Anurans.”

      “Anurans?  Didn’t Doctor Who have a go with them last week?”

      “Order Anura represents the frogs and toads.”

      “You’re making that up.  I still say it’s from Doctor Who.”

      “You may research the nomenclature of well-kissed amphibians at your leisure but, know that, that you shall find me correct.  Further, there are no Doctor Who villains with that particular name, though I will concede the Arcturans is a somewhat-respectable match.  Given _The_ _Curse of Peladon_ was not broadcast last week, the final nail, as they say, has been applied to the coffin of your assertion.  Oh dear…”

      “Mycroft…”

      “Gadzooks!  My glass is bereft of scotch.  I shall obtain more.”

      “Wrong!  You’re going to sit there, continue to turn a pretty pink and let me take in the full glory of a Doctor Who fan who’s had the hood of his secret-society robes tossed back to reveal his true identity.”

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO… that information is octarine-level classified!  NO!  Do not even _think_ anything associated with Sir Terry Pratchett’s works, lest Gregory glean that damming piece of information, as well, given his catlike perceptions…

      “I… that is to say…”

      “Here’s what I’m going to say.  Ready?  Mechonoids.”

Was that a gasp?  _His_ gasp?  It was.  How utterly humiliating.  But, how very intriguing… should he?  The gauntlet had been thrown down and it would besmirch his honor to let it lie there, sneering in contempt…

      “I counter with Sensorites.”

      “Good one.  Lot’s of ‘s’ in there to make it sound especially catchy.  Ice Warriors.”

      “Excellent.  Voord.”

      “Laughed too much at those, I’m afraid.”

      “Yes, the costuming _did_ leave something to be desired, for audience and actor both, I must admit.   However… I do not recall seeing you at the secret society meetings, Gregory Lestrade.”

      “I sit at the back.”

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade was now the world’s most dangerous man.  Moriarty was a pimple compared to him!  Fantastically handsome, intelligent, humorous, courageous, good-hearted, sexually-enticing, a master negotiator and… a Doctor Who fan.  There was no other on Earth who could hold more sway over the indomitable Mycroft Holmes than this man, who was currently smiling at him with all the charm and allure of the most expensive of courtesans.

      “That must be the reason.  I prefer the front, so I may more freely interact with the officiant and correct their mistakes.”

      “Something I’ve admired many a time.  And, now our secrets and shame have been revealed, we’ve got more than Sherlock to talk about!”

Which implied Gregory _wanted_ to talk.  To him!  Why hadn’t he spoken to the Detective Inspector before now?  It… it was not nearly as difficult as he had feared.  He was even succeeding with wit!  Or was he?  Perhaps a small test was warranted.

      “Always a useful thing, as discussions concerning Sherlock are not beneficial to one’s colon.”

You even laugh at my limply-delivered jokes, dear Gregory.  How is that possible?  How can you take such enjoyment from the company of someone as dreary and stodgy as me?  And how did I not calculate the possibility before this point?  To miss such a thing… when it was so dearly desired… nearly as much as the twinkle shining in your eyes.

      “That they are not.  And, for men our age, the state of our colon _is_ of pressing concern.”

      “Tragically, that is the scourge of age.”

      “Sags and bags, too.  Just look at this… used to be lean as a fencepost when I was younger.  Could live on chips, beer and pasties for a month and not gain an ounce.  Not today, though.  Just look at that padding around my middle.  My young self would laugh at me and throw in a few rude gestures, too.  Especially with these wrinkles!  Used to have a come-hither look that was irresistible, but now it just gets me asked if I’m having a stroke.”

Are you mad?

      “Don’t think so.  Why?”

Oh, was that aloud?  My error…

      “I… I cannot imagine, given your bearing and… combination of… features... that you… more scotch?”

No… pack away your smile, Gregory.  Pack it, wrap it and ship it far, far away…

      “Mycroft, was that a compliment?”

      “Y… Yes.  Your scotch is most palatable.”

      “Try again.”

Bugger a badger…

      “I… given you have commented on my artistic abilities, I am using that authority to counter your assertion that there is some form of aged-promoted withering of your physical form or features.”

      “Yeah, I still have no idea, but I’ll believe it’s one, nonetheless and thank you for it!”

      “Oh.  You’re welcome?”

      “There we go!  You know, though, Mycroft… I can’t help but notice something about your drawings from tonight…”

      “Which is?”

      “You’re missing some bits.”

No, you did not notice that for I am attempting to telepathically erase any further thoughts along that line from your mind.

      “I feel my objectives were achieved.”

      “You’re _missing_ some bits.”

      “Very well.  I did not make a sketch of your feet, for my angle was not quite as I would prefer it and I did not wish to disturb the class by moving my easel.”

      “Funny.  Mycroft, people take a life drawing class to have the opportunity to draw people.”

      “As you are correctly classed as ‘people,’ I claim success.”

      “People in a way you don’t see them, say, on the street or at the beach.”

      “With shoes?”

      “Attention off my feet, Mycroft, and on my arse.  Or my cock.  Either, since neither is in your sketches.”

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…. the cataclysm is at hand!

      “I… I could not render every part of you in one sitting, Gregory.  As it was, I was pressed to capture what I did before the session ended.”

      “You felt weird, didn’t you?”

      “My health has been exemplary today, thank you.”

      “You felt weird drawing the naughty bits of someone you knew.”

      “Ridiculous.  You were there in a professional capacity as a model, so there was no need to feel uncomfortable about the situation.”

      “Where’s my cock, Mycroft?”

      “Between your… Gregory, what sort of question is that?”

      “A good one!  Amazing artist like you… I want to see my assets showcased!”

      “You are not that vain, Gregory Lestrade.”

      “True, but there’s nothing vain about wanting to see yourself drawn by a great artist.  It’s an opportunity you snatch when it’s offered and guard it like gold!”

Your sincere and effusive flattery will gain you nothing, you villain!  My charcoals and pencils will, in no manner, trace the outline of your intimate regions.  It would be a race between my heart failure and the bursting of the paper into flames and that is not a race I wish to see run.

      “I am certain I shall have occasion to uptake the challenge of those anatomical regions during the next session, however…”

      “Nope.  Probably won’t be there.”

      “Oh… I would have thought the participants would have several sessions, at minimum, with a single model.”

      “Usually, that’s the case, but I stepped in at the last-minute tonight because the model Ronnie had contacted got an offer for some magazine work and it paid a lot better.  Chance for some exposure, too, and she said he was hoping to work in modeling as a profession.  She’ll have someone else hired for next week, I suspect, and, in any case, I can’t guarantee that I won’t be on the job.”

      “I see.  Then, I shall be content with the studies I have already created and look forward to beginning new ones with a fresh form next week.”

      “Why wait?  I’ve got nothing better to do tonight, so…”

      “GREGORY!  Whatever are you doing?”

      “Losing my trousers.”

      “You are not.”

      “If you look again, I think you’ll agree that I am.”

      “For whatever reason are you trying to disrobe?”

      “So you can finish your sketches!”

      “Absolutely not!”

      “Absolutely yes!  And, now, you don’t have to worry about other people watching what you do.  I’ll put the telly on something entertaining and have a watch while you give my arse artistic respect.”

      “That… no.  The situation is entirely inappropriate.”

And immeasurably terrifying!

      “No, it’s not.  You said, yourself, that me modeling was a professional situation, so your inappropriate claim doesn’t hold.”

      “This is not a studio!  This is your home.”

      “Which his even better!  Warmer, got my telly and scotch, you can tell me how you want me to pose, just like an artist and his own model, not one who’s sharing with others.  What could be better?”

Everything.  Everything in the entire universe.

      “Witness, though, the fly in your ointment - while I work and you pose, we shall have no opportunity for further conversation, which you seem to be enjoying.”

There.  The matter is well and truly closed.

      “I can chat while I pose.”

Do not open that which is closed, Gregory.  It is a violation of the natural order.

      “But _I_ do not chat while I focus on my work.”

      “I can talk to myself.”

You are more of a toddler than Sherlock!  God help us all…

      “You are being most obstinate this evening, Detective Inspector.”

      “Nope.  Just practical.  Which a specialty of mine, thank you very much.  So, give me a moment to get naked and…”

      “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO….”

Oops.

      “That was loud.”

      “Yes… I do apologize.”

      “You really don’t want to do this, do you?”

      “No.  It is neither the time not the place.”

And I have not a scintilla of the necessary fortitude to weather the onslaught of your manly physique in such close quarters.  Especially with the camaraderie we are developing.  I would utterly be undone by the experience, though, in fairness, my resulting death would be the most pleasant imaginable.

      “Alright.  Just trying to be helpful.”

No, you were… oh my.  That look in your eyes, Gregory.  Why does it so closely resemble disappointment?  Resignation, even…

      “Gregory…”

      “Hey, about that scotch you’ve been wanting?  Let me refill these for us and…”

      “That is not my concern at the moment.”

      “Oh, hoping for a nibble?  I can probably find something that…”

      “I would rather take the moment and discuss… were you truly that desiring of further of my sketches?  I had thought it somewhat of a jest, however… you seem rather distressed by my refusal.”

      “It’s nothing.  Don’t worry about it.  Now, I’ll get that scotch and…”

      “I would appreciate some honesty on the topic, Gregory.”

For the very idea of upsetting you is eating through me like the most caustic of acids.

      “How about no honesty and a slice of cold pizza with your scotch?”

      “I shall have all three in their due time, beginning with honesty.”

Seeing Greg’s eyes dim slightly and his posture soften and slump, Mycroft quickly regretted his insistence, but how could he fix the problem if he had no idea what it was!  And he desperately wanted to fix this.  This small bit of time felt too precious, to wonderful to let slide through his fingers because of something foolish he may have said or done.

      “Fine.  I suppose… I suppose I’d hoped, a little, that you’d _liked_ what you’d seen.”

      “I do not understand.  Seen what?”

      “Me!  I thought maybe you liked what you saw when you saw _me_.”

      “Gregory… pardon my confusion, but I see you with some frequency…”

      “And why do think that’s the case?”

      “Because Sherlock is a human typhoon who lacks either self-awareness or self-control.”

      “Because I phone you.  I phone you when Sherlock’s being a prat.”

      “Yes?  But… is that not to be expected?”

      “Early on, yes.  Now… why don’t I phone John?”

      “Doctor Watson is generally an accomplice to Sherlock’s mayhem.”

      “Not as often as you might think, if you put your mind to it.  John does a respectable job keeping Sherlock out of police hands, but when Sherlock’s on his own, and off his nut, I call you.  Not John.  _You_.”

Some had said Mycroft didn’t have a brain, but the universe’s most complex and sophisticated computer, brought back from the future by Nikolai Tesla himself.  Some said Mycroft had demon blood in his veins and that imparted powers above and beyond those of purely-mortal men.  Right now, either camp would be disastrously disappointed by the fact that Mycroft was simply sitting there, blank-faced and blinking – as if the source of his tremendous gifts had packed its bags and gone off on holiday.

      “I… are… you… what…”

      “Oh shit, I took you offline.  Here, finish my scotch and give the ‘On’ button a little wiggle.  I’ll wait.”

Slamming half a glass of scotch wasn’t the wisest decision when one was teetering on the brink of malfunction, but it served the purpose of switching Mycroft’s brain to survival mode to prevent him choking to death and that helped clear a few higher-thinking pathways to fully process what Greg had said to him.

      “That… I am fine, thank you.  Are you saying, and do pardon me if I’m being presumptuous, but… you _wanted_ to see me?”

      “See you, talk to you… we’ve known each other a long time, Mycroft, and that very first time we met, I decided that… I’d like to know you better.”

Dear heavens, if this was a hallucination he would murder anyone who gave him the proper treatment to cure him of it.

      “Then… why not simply… do so?”

      “How?  And it’s not as if I didn’t try.  Chat you up a bit when our paths crossed, phone you even when I might have simply tossed Sherlock’s arse in a cab and sent him home, but… I never had the courage to do anything more.  Let’s be honest… you’re handsome, brilliant, powerful, sophisticated… I’m likely the last person in London you’d want to meet for a drink in the evenings.  I guess when I saw you in class tonight that, well… it was my chance!  I’d have time to talk to you, without Sherlock or either of our jobs being in the way.  And… you’d have the chance to see the non-talky part of me and decide if it was something that perked your interest.  Sherlock mentioned once that you fancied men… he actually said that the women of London should rejoice that they were safe from your clammy, ham-sized clutches, but I pulled back the case file I was offering him until he apologized.  In any case, I hoped that… I’m not in the worst possible shape for a man my age and I’m not the dumbest or least-cultured, so this was an opportunity to let you really get to see all of that so… maybe if, one day, I asked if you’d like that drink in the evening, you’d consider saying yes.  Needless to say, when we landed here… I guess I got overexcited and made a fool of myself.  Not the first time, certainly won’t be the last.  I just hope that my being idiot won’t make things awkw… oof!”

Mycroft’s finger pressing Greg’s lips closed refused to move while Mycroft’s now-functioning brain dissected every word of Greg’s speech for any possible alternative meaning than the one that would seem screamingly obvious to any rational person.  However, since he wasn’t feeling particularly rational at the moment, all paths must be explored, evaluated and tossed aside before he was left with the one that glistened brightest with promise.

When he thought of himself, Mycroft had many adjectives he used to describe both his personal self and his professional self.  Professionally, the term ‘courageous’ was solidly in his arsenal.  He was willing to make the hard decisions, ones that would gain him no friends or lauds, and to sacrifice his career or even his own live if the greater good was best served by the act.  However, he had never applied the term to his personal self, beyond the scope of matters concerning his finances or legal matters.  This one time, though, his very core seemed to be girding its loins to leap into a decision that would test that courage to its very limit and he was not sorry for the fact.

      “Gregory… if I remove my finger from your lips and grant you permission to do something with them other than speak, will you discern my meaning and do so with some eagerness?”

Now it was Greg’s turn to momentarily go offline because what his brain was discerning wasn’t something the British Government could possibly be suggesting.  Could he?  But… one reason Mycroft might be uneasy with a more intimate posing session was what that intimacy might mean for… could there be a small lusty flame under those fine suits that worried about a touch of petrol being splashed on it?  It was a nice thought… and there was, buried at the very back of Mycroft’s eyes, behind the bit of pompousness and shipping container of twisty words… a touch of what looked suspiciously like hope, if one was optimistic in one’s thinking.  Which wasn’t his usual outlook on things, not at all, but sometimes, optimism was worth the risk…

      “Umm hmmm.”

      “That was not English.  Kindly nod or shake your head to clarify your response.”

Pithiness abounds!  But it is far better than giving into the trouser-wetting fear that certain signals are being wildly misread and this will end in head-exploding humiliation.  Oh… Gregory is _nodding_ …

With boundless fear on both sides, Mycroft removed his finger and Greg screwed up his resolve to lean in and give Mycroft a hesitant kiss, one that lost its hesitancy like he’d been ready to lose his trousers when Mycroft’s small sigh of pleasure hit his ears.

      “Mycroft…”

      “As you have had thoughts, Gregory, I have had my own.  Pity we did not act upon them sooner.”

Another kiss began, this one longer than the first and which quickly escalated to a point of urgency that the trouser issue became one of somewhat pressing concern for _both_ men.

      “I don’t want to move too fast, Mycroft.  I don’t want this to be one-time thing.”

      “Neither do I.  I… I have wanted this for a very long time.”

      “Maybe…”

      “More scotch?”

      “And something real to eat.  While we talk.”

      “An excellent idea.  Might… _this_ be interspersed with the conversation.”

Mycroft laid a small kiss on Greg’s lips and what it lacked in sexual heat it more than made up for in promise.  A promise that each of them had fantasized about since first they met.

      “Oh yeah, that’s definite.  And… we’ll see where it leads.”

      “My thoughts exactly.  Now, I do believe I am ready for another drink and… the chance to get to know you better.”

Greg’s smile curled Mycroft’s toes in the most delicious way and he used the moments Greg was getting their drinks to text the transportation office to notify them that a car was to be sent on demand and not a moment before he gave notification.  Which could be in a few hours.  Which could be in the morning.  Either was fine with him.  A slow pace or a quick one, there _would_ be repetitions of tonight.  Drinks, dinner, romance… perhaps more.  Nerve-shattering, highly-naked more…

Which was nothing he could ever have expected, but not a smidgen of this wondrous gift would he take for granted or waste.  There was a true chance for something beautiful to grow between them and he wanted it.  Wanted it and would cherish and nurture it for as long as he was privileged to have it.  Which… if he was to have his way… would be a very long time, indeed…

__________

      “Quetzal, this is Kestrel.”

      “Ah, Kestrel.  Report.”

      “Car rescheduled to ‘on call.’  Brilliant!”

      “I agree.  I put the odds at a _morning_ call out at 87 %.”

      “I was thinking 75%, but that was blatant bet-hedging.”

      “You will alert me to any changes in the situation?”

      “Immediately.”

      “Excellent.  Lunch on Friday?”

      “Absolutely.  I should have a wealth of juicy details by then.”

      “Then do enjoy the rest of your evening, Kestrel.”

      “You as well, Quetzal.”

Lady Smallwood hung up the phone and smiled mischievously.  What a positively perfect PA Mycroft had found.  And, now, what a positively perfect paramour.  Mycroft was a very old and dear friend, but he was balls at romance, let alone hiding his interest in the valiant Detective Inspector.  If she had to suffer another tea break with him distractedly looking at his phone because similarly-besotted Greg Lestrade had called and left an entirely unnecessary message about Sherlock, she would have locked them both in a dungeon until nature took it’s inevitable course.  This was a much better plan, though, in the long run.  Dungeons were so prone to tourists lately and it would be a miserable job finding, confiscating and destroying all photographic evidence of one the pillars of world order having sweaty, acrobatic sex with a scandalously-handsome members of law enforcement.

After she kept the nicest of the photographic evidence for herself, of course, Lestrade truly was a gorgeous man, by any and all standards.  Not that she’d mention that anytime soon, however.  Being called out for a duel by Mycroft might be amusing, but they had far too much work to do to spare time for such nonsense.  A ‘Congratulations on Your Amazing Shag’ cake arriving tomorrow would have do in the meantime.  And be very tasty, besides…


End file.
